“Sadly, I’m coming to realize that my lifetime will be laden with world-altering events and their numerous fallouts.” – Old Sean
Lockdown Evasion
I’ve miscalculated somewhat today and made my way to the airport a tad too early. I confess, I’m bored and sweaty in a frightfully empty and warm airport. Air conditioning is sputtering weakly but does nothing to banish the heat.
Security had no line at all and I walked through the metal detector with only a single person three minutes behind me. When people talk, it echoes slightly inside that glass and steel building.
How bizarre our world becomes.
The past week was my final week in Vietnam. Though I originally planned on a jaunting tour of a few places I haven’t seen in SE Asia, emails from my grandmother and sage warning from friends have drawn me home to the US.
The coronavirus has gripped the world, especially SE Asia. Businesses in the last few days have decided to stop opening, especially in more touristic areas.
Those shops that are still open (which there are still plenty) have staff members veiled in the usual masks. Those that speak English fluently enough make small, somewhat timid suggestions that foreigners don a mask as well.
I am unwilling to get stranded, so off I go. But not without some goodbye events.
Hoi An Finale
My last week in Hoi An was pleasant enough. Following my extended motorcycle trips and subsequent period of rest, I crammed in a couple more visits to finish off my checklist of the area.
Most delightful was my hiking tour of Bach Ma, an elevated mountain range to the west of Hue. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a way to get there solo and navigate easily. As such, I ended up booking a tour.
I fundamentally dislike tours. I don’t like lounging in big groups, I don’t like following said group’s pace and I don’t appreciate lingering or being rushed along. That being said, this particular tour was very nice. It was brisk, not rushed, and the guide was kind enough to go off and give people extra time or space when needed.
Bach Ma is a long drive from Hoi An. My group was shuttled about in a terrifying bus whose driver leaned on the distinct horn so frequently, I wondered half the time if there was an echo bouncing off a nearby hill.
We rocketed through the countryside and main roads, overlapping bikes and cars with alacrity. When we finally reached the base of the mountain range, we were piled into a pair of vans and gradually snaked up the mountains.
Visiting the Bach Ma Mountains
Bach Ma mountains are truly gorgeous ranges. They dip and roll in steep drops covered in lush sub-tropical jungles. The range tends to trap mist and low clouds, so clear views are seldom, but the hints of distant rises are impressive in their own right.
We were dropped off in near a decrepit old villa, the long abandoned, yellow residence of a departed French colonial. Moss and mold caked the sides and paint flaked off the railings. The building is supposedly haunted and local Vietnamese people confess that they’re more superstitious than Western visitors.
Humorously enough, while the building is in poor repair, the doorknobs and locks are bright and new, barring anyone from poking their heads inside.
We rose up through the hiking trail, following a rocky stone path. Eventually, our guide introduced us to a small series of caverns.
War tunnels designed by Vietnamese guerilla fighters and adopted by standing American invaders snaked throughout the mountain. We were allowed to go marching through the narrow tunnels, sparing a few pangs of sympathy for the Canadian fellow in our tour group who stands well over six feet tall.
Tunnel March
The tunnels are very busy and populated with adorable little bats. Most of them reside in offshoot tunnels that tourists aren’t allowed to access, but many roost upside down and peer at the incoming visitors.
Despite frequent and unrelenting admonishments from our guide, the tourists made plenty of sounds. Squeals, muffled gasps and nervous laughter disturbed many of the flying mammals, and they tried to wing their way out of the caves, causing even more of a ruckus. One struck a lady’s leg and floundered on the ground, stunned until it gathered itself and tried again to wing away.
I love bats. Very cute.
I remember reading that for a long time, bats were considered to be perfect nocturnal fliers, using precision echolocation to perform astounding aerial feats of evasion to avoid striking one another in mid-air. However, there was an article I recall which recorded some bats, coming to the conclusions than no, these bundles of furry-wings actually bump into one another all the time.
Past Tales
I’ve actually been struck by a bat before. Once when I visited the truly fantastic Henry Dorely Zoo in Omaha, Nebraska with my friend Aly. We were in the jungle exhibit when they were closing, and as soon as the lights turned off, bats began swooping everywhere. Aly wisely ducked while I haughtily assured her, no, no don’t concern yourself. They won’t hit us, bats have echolocation.
A bat promptly hit me in my chest, causing me to make an odd strangled yelp of an unmanly high pitch while launching the critter up like a volleyball. It winged away while Aly, still ducking, laughed with justifiable gusto.
Makes me smile.
Back in the Caverns
In addition to the bats, there are also a few of the creepy crawly critters working their way through the caverns. These spiny centipedes crouched peacefully on passing walls. Our guide asked us to avoid eating them, as they’re poisonous. Between his deadpan and cultural lack of sarcasm, I couldn’t decide if he was joking our not.
Either way, I wasn’t about to shove the eraser-sized bugs into my mouth.
I’m less fond of giant night crawlers. Slightly less cute.
After departing the tunnel, we rose to the absolute mountaintop for tea in a small observation deck, where Americans had once helicoptered in supplies.
A large ornate bell stood on the historical helipad, known as the “Peace Bell.” A few people in my group, usually couples, took turns ringing the gonglike noise in intervals of three. A pedestal lingered nearby, plastered with the donated pictures of Americans who had once served in Vietnam.
Jungle Hikes
Afterwards, we descended halfway down the mountains to a series of joint valleys where things became much more interesting. Huge banana spiders rested in their webs and lizards flashed through the underbrush.
We eventually reached a series of stairs that led down to some perfectly blue and white rapids. This portion of the tour consisted of “five lakes” (more like deeply-colored ponds) all very beautiful. The hike down isn’t level at all, with walkers forced to cling to cliff sides and scrabble at slightly frayed ropes. More than anything else, I enjoyed this part.
Our group had one woman from Germany with depth perception issues, and as such, she moved a bit slower than the crowd (but more than quickly enough to keep up.
I was asked to bring up the rear to keep an eye on her. Due to this, I had a lot of extra time to monkey around, scrabbling up cliff sides, swinging from pole-thick trunks and looping my arm through rope hooks while hanging over impressive drops.
The places where rivers were only crossable by semi-sturdy stones, I looped across the rocks doing my best to avoid breaking stride. When I was a wee lad, I used to do this sort of activity all the time in the hiking trails around local lakes in Texas and small creek chasms in Nebraska. I’m glad I haven’t lost my balance. Or grip.
Pools and Waterfalls
Part of the tour included a rest spot in the deepest of the pooling lakes, where everyone got changed and dipped into the waters before settling down to eat. This was a pleasant enough area, and it was warm enough to be muggy, but the mountain water is bitterly cold. When I dived in, I shuddered terribly as I forced my limbs to move. The chill hit bone-deep immediately and I only floundered in the water for a few minutes, dunking my head in a waterfall before clambering back to shore.
The final stop on our tour was a huge overlook, marked with bright red paint forbidding anyone from creeping closer to the edge. We were allowed to rest here for an about half an hour to take selfies. I worked my way through the next chapter of the Wheel of Time. It’s been an unfortunate oversight that I haven’t gotten to read the series yet and I impulse-bought the entire set when I got paid a couple weeks ago.
After this, the tour was essentially over. we wandered back to the bus and returned to Hoi An.
Another Da Nang Day
The following day, I made my way to Da Nang to see the oddly shaped peninsula of Monkey Mountain.
The monkeys themselves were nowhere to be found. I arrived too late in the day and they are only active in the early morning and late evening. However, the mountain itself has a few interesting things.
I made my way around Chua Linh Ung, a small tourist attraction with a serene standing woman statue, a rather stout pagoda and a series of temples crammed with ornate bonsai trees. My friend Ben requested some photos of the Bonsai trees in Asia, so I’ve been collecting. My favorite thus far consists of one being driven to a new home in the back of a truck, part of a four vehicle convoy to reforest temples to the north.
The entire mountain is fun to dart around. Thick trees, scenic views and wavy roads make it a pleasant ride, especially considering the lack of traffic. However, automatic scooters are forbidden on many of the roads and there are gate checkpoints I decided not to risk.
On the way back, I stopped along Bai Bien My Khe, a scenic beach stretching along the coast where Da Nang’s population and relaxing tourists lounged about in surprisingly small numbers. It’s a long beach, so crowds are quite spread out.
Last Meals of Vietnam
And then my trip was done, for all intents and purposes. I had four days left, but those days were spent working, doing taxes and occasionally testing out new restaurants within Hoi An.
Before leaving, I downloaded a few games for my flight home and made arrangements for when I landed, including lodging, a doctor check-up and a span of self-imposed isolation, in case my numerous flights and airports back brings me in contact with a coronavirus carrier.
I am not afraid of the disease itself, but I couldn’t forgive myself as patient zero in a new patch of land.
In any event, I spent my evenings at the fantastic restaurant on Cam Nam Island, Ngo Gai Coffee. It firmly stands as my favorite restaurant in Hoi An for quality food, atmosphere and blueberry smoothies.
I also managed to visit Dingo Deli, a sandwich and western food shop that boasts a pretty excellent array of menu items. It’s justifiably well-rated, but much more expensive than some equally stellar places in Hoi An.
Another good but slightly pricey option included Streets Restaurant Café. They have a coffee flan dessert that I would hike up a mountain for. Fortunately for my lazy ass, I can just ride a scooter over a bridge and buy one.
For something with a bit more kick and spice, I found Nha Hang An Do Nameste Omar’s. It’s an Indian restaurant with extremely generous portions and a willingness to dim down the spicy stuff for western taste buds.
Craving pastry items, I also found LeVain Bakery to have the best bread and egg coffee in the area. It’s right across the street from Nameste Omar, so it became my go-to dessert location.
Moments of R&R
And then there was rest. I spent some days picking my way along the road for mild exercise, visiting local farms and ship-repair zones on the far end of the island.
A full moon hung overhead most nights, which is lucky as its light allowed me to sidestep two snakes laying peacefully on the still-warm concrete. Rain came once during the night, but the weather held up otherwise.
Eventually, I returned to my hotel. The following morning, a man in gloves, masks and a set of goggles let me into the back of his car and shuttled me to the Da Nang airport. I breezed through security, marveled at the near-totally empty building and typed out this tangent.
Thoughts on COVID
This is one of the most surreal travel experiences I’ve ever had. The plane isn’t half full and I have an entire row to myself. The person nearest me is lying down flat across three seats and I was offered an extra meal dessert since the food cart was overstocked.
The coronavirus has done much. My hostess at the villa bid me a very kind farewell, noting that I was leaving at an opportune time. She mentioned that the area had five new Coronavirus cases as of last night and she expected a good number of the more public shops to be closed by next week.
My friends in China have been inside for roughly forty consecutive days, only leaving twice to resupply.
My online Asian students attend their lessons with gusto and zeal, wrenchingly bored inside their homes while doing little else than studying. Every day I get a message from a person stateside, either staunchly dismissing the coronavirus as a brand of fearmongering that they mostly disregard, or a dire warning complete with well-intentioned questions asking when I’ll be home.
The answer to that is tomorrow. I’ll fly back across oceans and time zones, in half empty flights with ridiculous layovers, including 11 hours in Denver and 5 hours in Taipei.
I’ll write about Denver, especially since I’m wonderfully interested in doing a bit of exploring there. I used to live in Boulder, but I found that small town fulfilling enough to rarely venture anywhere but into the mountains.
My last visit to Denver consisted of a nation-wide road trip last year, and unfortunately, an immense snowstorm nearly trapped me there. I left early to avoid being stranded before getting hammered in by a mountain storm that will likely remain the most difficult drive of my life. But I digress.
From Denver, I’ll fly to Little Rock for a short two days to pick up some goods I had shipped there. Specifically, camping gear, including a hammock, rainfly, sleeping pad and calipers. Provided I’m not detained and quarantined for some reason, I’ll be in a self-imposed isolation for the month, hiking the rugged boundaries of the Ouachita Trail.
I can feel the world clamming up and shuttering down, justifiably or not. So for a while, my travel will patter off into long hikes and vague isolation.
Until this strange time turns then.
Best regards and excellent trails,
Old Sean
Written March 9th 2020
Read more about visiting Bach Ma and seeing the world by visiting Leftfade Trails Blog.
Affiliate Disclosure: Leftfade Trails contains affiliate links, so using services or products through these links supports the website, at no extra cost to the user. All links are to tested services and products designed to aid travelers on their journeys. Some links specifically connect to Amazon. As an Amazon Associate this website earns from qualifying purchases.
Sometimes, when traveling, I don’t have a dedicated workspace. But the iClever Remote Keyboard solved this for me. The remote, folding keyboard is light and compact, allowing me to type on any surface to any device. It’s instrumental in operating this site.
